Day Ten – June 9th: Belarado – St. Juan de Ortega (15 miles/ 24.1 km)
“Miracles are easier to believe when they happen to other people.”
I awake early – really early. A family is getting their gear together to leave before dawn and half their gear must be in plastic shopping bags which continually rattle. One of my biggest pet peeves on the walk is “inconsiderate early peregrinos” – pilgrims that wake up an hour or two before everyone else and then make a lot of noise getting things together. And the biggest factor is those damn shopping bages. They make great storage, but in a quiet room they rattle loud!
Come on folks, if you know you are leaving before everyone else, pack your gear and set it outside the room. It is not rocket science and would give us slouch peregrinos a chance to maybe sleep in a little. Please take note all you aspiring some day peregrinos!
I try to get back to sleep, but cannot, so I rise and see that it’s about 6:00. The sun should be rising soon and since I have no flashlight, it is generally a good idea to wait for the sun – it makes signs easier to spot. You know they put those little yellow arrows in the darndest places.
I test my legs and they are tight, but seem ok; a little more sore than usual. Looking at my guide book, I hope to make it to San Juan de Ortega – a 24 km day. The bad part is the last half of the day there are no stopping points as it is all just forested land and three “mountains”. So if I am not strong enough, the furthest I will get today is 12km. There are also ups and downs, the downs being what makes me nervous with my legs as I know these are much harder on them.
I eat some bread and jam in the alburgue and head out. I am very stiff, but within a half mile my legs begin to warm up and I am feeling better, much better. The loneliness of the night before dusts off me as I greet the fresh dewey morning feeling strong. Mornings are my favorite, I think I have always been a morning person – well maybe since puberty passed. Well maybe after college. Actually maybe a few years after that because the soon after college work was often followed by bar hopping. But definitely since then, I have been a morning person.
There is something about the sun rising, the day being fresh that makes me happy. I walk content in my aloneness and set a nice brisk pace. The path is pleasant, quickly leaving the town and meandering through fields and away from the road. I like this best. I also am totally alone as I have seen no pilgrims since I began. On the way, I am OK with being alone.
About 5 km from the alburgue, my leg tightens severely and I am back to hobbling. I am so frigging angry. I have turned in an instant from a happy-go-lucky adventurer into an angry cripple. Though quiet on the outside I am hurling insults internally at myself.
“You are so stupid!”
“You should have known better than to put that crème on before you walked.”
“Of course you hurt yourself, you walked hard and felt no pain, because you numbed your muscles and so did not feel when it was time to rest or slow down. Idiot!”
This inner dialogue continues as I hobble onward, only pausing when fellow peregrinos pass me. I smile and say “Buen Camino,” hiding the inner rebukes and turmoil. The next town, Villambistia is about 2 km away- not real far, unless you are hurting. But there supposedly is a café there. I could use my morning fix of a café con leche and maybe something to eat as well as a rest for my legs.
A little man in a Robin Hood hat passes me, I think he is Irish. We exchange greetings as we have crossed paths before, usually I pass him as his gait is quite slow. But not today, this adds to the inner storm, though outside is all a smile. Another 100 yards and I am passed by an elderly couple. This is the final straw.
My jaw tightens as I hold back tears. The onslaught inside begins, beating myself down. People say don’t beat yourself “up.” For me, the beatings are never in an “up” direction – it is always down. Tears want to come because I am angry over yesterday and fearful that I won’t be able to finish. I have come all this way and don’t think I will be able to “do the Camino.” I have wasted my trip. What will I do for the next 25 days? I came to do a pilgrimage and now I am stuck.
As this barrage of insults hurls around inside of me the wind is raging around the outside of me – it picked up over the past 30 minutes, forcing me to keep my head down as I hobble onward. I stop my feet for a brief pause and raise my head, the inner storm continues. “I wanted to do the damn Camino and now look at me, fucking idiot.” As my head and eyes rise, I notice I am walking along the side of a valley – a beautiful valley steeped in waves of yellow and green.
As the wind blows strongly, the green grasses and yellow flowers ripple and flow across the valley. It is indescribably beautiful and in the pause of a breath, in the glimpse of simple splendor, the storm stops. I simply watch the colors and shadows, the dances and waves of grass and flowers and all the inside noise is replaced with quiet, until…
A gentle voice replaces the raging one.
“Look below your feet, you are on the Way. You were even before you took your first step. It matters not where you end in Spain, what is important is that you are here. So walk 800 km or walk 50, simply be present for each step.”
An incredibly peace and joy overcomes me, and no longer clenching my jaw, tears gently flow out of my eyes. I smile in awe – wondering where that came from, thankful it came, and amused that such wisdom was hidden from me just moments before.
“Long after you have left Spain, you will still be on the Way. It is only when you can let go of your destination that you can enjoy the moment, the only place where the journey exists.”
With a few deep breaths and a renewed faith, the faith of a peregrino who trusts in the way, I hobble onward, looking forward to the next town and the respite of a bar and my first café con leche of the day. I wonder where my adventure will take me, maybe Santiago and maybe not. And right now, that is so OK with me. I am on the Way.
I arrive in the village of Villambistia twenty minutes later and have enjoyed every painful step. But now I see that the road forks – straight ahead is the camino to the right and sharply downhill is a sign for a café. Despite my pain and reluctance for a descent, I hobble down the hill even slower than across the valley – I need a café con leche! I feel like an 80 year old man, as the downhill is incredibly painful and I am moving each foot only inches forward with each step.
At last I round a corner and I see the café. It is largely deserted outside, though I see one backpack on a bench nearby. I am so excited to sit, to drink coffee and rest. Maybe I will simply rest here for the rest of today and carry on tomorrow or the next day. Maybe the Way wants me to stop, I think.
My Irish man is sitting at a table inside eating a banana and drinking a coffee. I think a banana sounds like a good idea – I remember coaches used to give them to us during matches for our muscles. I order a café con leche and a banana and introduce myself to the Irishman, David.
David is actually an Alabamian by way of California. He tells me he is a spiritual teacher, which I find amusing coming off my most recent experience in the valley, which I share with him. I jokingly ask him if he also does spiritual healing. Which he quickly retorts, “Yeah no problem.” We talk a little longer and then he rises to leave.
I am enjoying my first café and not looking forward to returning to the walk or making a stay or go decision, so I make an easier one. “Uno café con leche, por favor.” I sit to enjoy my second coffee and a cigarette. I chuckle as I smile at this enjoyable café, coffee, cigarette and sit. How could I have been so angry so little ago? Funny how a simple shift in perspective can be so transforming.
A few more peregrinos come and go. Having sat about a half-hour in the café – a luxuriously long coffee break for a peregrino, I rise to go out. Walking slowly to my pack, I notice my leg feels not so tight. I walk across the square to the bench which holds my pack and am curiously aware that I don’t feel the incredible pain in my leg, just a little soreness.
I smile, put on my backpack and joke to myself, that I did get a healing. I decide to continue on, maybe I can make it to Villafranca – another 5 km before my leg will tighten again.
The next 5 km pass without a return of the knot. And I begin to wonder – am I healed? I have always heard that acceptance leads to healing. That once you accept something, you have learned the lesson and the circumstances forcing the lesson are no longer needed. But this is me. I am a “real” person, not someone in a story. I know the Camino’s history is wrought with miracles, but even though I think I believe in them, they are a lot easier to believe in when they occur to someone else – especially a long time ago.
Can I really be healed? Can I be really be ok? I walk into Villafranca and wonder if I should continue on or is that pushing it. The next 12 km there are no towns, no cafes, few roads and three mountains. Am I crazy to think I can do it? What if my leg knots up again, I will be up there in the dark. I wonder is it bad form to question a miracle instead of simply accepting it with grace.
There is a truck-stop diner along the way and I decide to postpone the decision until after lunch. The diner is full of truckers, locals, army men and no peregrinos, which is odd since it is right on the way. I order a breakfast of eggs and bacon for lunch with a coke. I am quite pleased with the diner and chuckle, thinking I am getting miracle upon miracle. And the Lord saith, “Thou shall not have to eat another bocadillo (sandwich) today!”
Miracles go down a little easier with humor…and bacon and eggs.
I rise from my brunch – satisfied and surprisingly still feeling strong. Stepping from the diner, the wind is blowing gently, the sky is full of clouds and I decide that indeed I am a peregrino and today I have been blessed with a miracle. Maybe that miracle will last and maybe not, but I make a pact that from now on, I will openly accept miracles in my life. And so I begin the ascent of my first mountain.
Though this sounds quite brave and noble, another part of me was hoping that the Spanish term for mountain might be like the one for river. Rio is the Spanish word for river, but already I have crossed rios that I could easily hop over. Maybe there are not words for creek or stream, so everything is a river – at least on my maps. So I am hoping that what is being referred to as three mountains might just be a couple hills.
Hey if you get one miracle, whats the harm in asking for another! “Aw come on, God. Aren’t you well known for leveling mountains!” Ok so maybe I am becoming a bit too cheeky.
Three blocks from the diner and I am climbing a steep incline and have left the road and village behind. One of the things I love about the Camino is how quickly, like now, the scenery can change.
I walk further on and up and enter a forest. Just inside the forest about 50 feet ahead of me there is a man lying beside the path in tall grass. He looks unhurt, but with the strange occurrences of today, I am on guard. As I walk up to him, he beams a large smile and greets me, “Buen Camino.”
“OK?” I ask.
He smiles and nods. He looks so happy and peaceful – maybe even angelic. My spirits are lifted even more and I continue on. Behind me, I hear the angel in the grass singing. Today is a weird day!
I walk on for a couple of hours, passing no one and with the exception of two cyclists have not been passed either – this makes me happy. The path goes from forest trail to small meadows and back, it is lovely – even with the cloudy day. As I round a corner in a stretch of forest, I spy my medicine man, David.
I catch up to him and together we walk a ways. I thank him tell him of my healing and he does not even flinch or say a word. This is sort of creepy to me, but in a good way. I could sure dig this miracle-kind of creepy more in my life. David tells me today is his birthday, he is 50. He asks me to take his picture and I gladly oblige – fearing a reverse curse! (Not really).
We part ways with David taking his slow pace, and me the wounded pilgrim moving on. I am elated. The rest of the journey is tough and tiring – many ups and downs and I am eager to reach San Juan de Ortega. It is one of the oldest stops along the Camino and is famous for its Garlic Soup, invented by a priest at the monastery/ church that also is an alburgue.
Another two hours and I arrive in a tiny hamlet that is San Juan. I am happy and healed. I know that no matter what comes my way from here on, I will be ok, because “The Way always provides.”
I grab a soda and a snack in a small bar and café next to the alburgue as it is not open yet. I sit among strangers and the lonely feelings cross over me again, like a cloud passing over the sun. This time, though lonely and a little anxious, I sit back and relax into the incredible day I have had. In minutes I am chatting with others around a table and making new friends.
A couple of ladies from Canada tell me of how they heard of the Camino from a violinist who walked it several years back with his violin and recorder. He would stop in churches along the way and simply play – new compositions as he was inspired. He wrote/ played 25 new compositions. I like this story, of Oliver Schroer and what he says of the Camino:
El Camino. The Road. It is a metaphor for a spiritual voyage; but it is also a very real, very physical path. It is a hot, dusty line slicing through a parched landscape, a cobblestone lane through a medieval village, the hard, concrete shoulder of a bleak highway. It is continuous, unbroken, yet changing. The one constant is the sound of footsteps – the heartbeat of the pilgrimage......
There is also a group of young Americans, I have seen them several times, but never spoken. Now I meet them more formally as Boston Mike is among them and they are evidently quite good friends with my medicine man healer, David. They in their youthful spirit of adventure have decided to trek through the night instead of sleeping and are trying to encourage others to join them. I find this engaging as there is no generation gap here, the young circle up with the old and plot out adventures together. This is refreshing.
Our alburgue opens and is ancient. Military style bunk beds line large plaster-walled rooms that surround an inner courtyard. The modern bathroom facilities certainly date back 50 years, but the smell that wafts through the entire commune is of the garlic soup. It is as if I have walked into my grandma’s house and she is preparing dinner. It is a welcoming feeling that surrounds me. I sit by the fire and chat with other peregrinos and make more friends, Rozsa from Hungary and David’s traveling buddy, Mark.
I love the stories from the other pilgrims – why they have come, how they heard about the way, how they are faring. I am not quick to share my miracle, still a little uncomfortable being the recipient of such a gift, but to me this is exactly what it was, is.
Over dinner, we sing happy birthday to David and another new friend, Phillipe from Canada. He turned 19 today. Again a nice mixture of people, lands, generations. It feels really right. The singing is fun, but alas the famous garlic soup leaves something to be desired. It is definitely a pilgrim-meal. I believe I could easily duplicate this recipe; heat large volume of water, add as much garlic as possible, find stale baguettes, break into pieces and toss in. Eat whenever it is hot.
I can tell I am not the only disappointed pilgrim. Although this is not my first experience with Garlic Soup on the way, but in the prior church where this was served, we also had salad, wine and sliced meats. Here is is Garlic soup and water. Quickly after dinner, most folks head out to a local restaurant for dinner #2. I instead opt for bed. It has been a long and wonderful day and I am ready for it to end – looking forward to what tomorrow will bring, resting peacefully in the knowledge that “The Way always provides.”
